


I'm Proud of You

by I_Make_Questionable_Choices



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Make Questionable Choices, Questionable-Choices writing, Triggers, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Make_Questionable_Choices/pseuds/I_Make_Questionable_Choices
Summary: The worst of monsters will eat away at your mind.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Kudos: 22





	I'm Proud of You

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: As you can probably tell, I’m both projecting some recent emotions into this work and, am not used to writing fluff. Also, please leave a like or comment; or both!

Silent killers were rare in your life. Monsters were not so gifted in the art of subtlety after all, especially not to the trained ear. But this monster, this one was different. It took its time, with no life of its own, it could wait forever, it would wait forever. No two books told of it the same way; some claimed it was like a parasite, feeding off its, victims and draining their energy yet keeping it alive to prolong its own life. Others told of killer, almost like a dijnn, planting falsities in its victims heads so that the victim took no notice of it while it drained them of life.

Others still claimed they were demons; possessing their host and only showing itself at the most dire of times.

No matter what way the books explained it, it did not help; neither Sam nor Dean cold get a solid idea of this monster, and, more importantly, the way to kill it.

It was evening, and Sam Winchester had been in the library for hours, not an uncommon sight in the bunker. It was more rare, however for his older brother to join him. Dean Winchester was always on the go and didn’t get the same information from books as Sam, he was more the hands on type.

It came as no surprise then that Dean was returning to continue research only after having another look at the victim.

He was sullen as he entered the library, eyes darkened and pained and shoulder slumped in defeat.

Sam glanced up, face illuminated by his laptop. “How’s she doing?”

“No better, no worse.”

Sam nodded as Dean plunked down in the chair across from him, pulling his own laptop towards him.

The Men of Letters had very few books on this kind of monster, so the brothers were forced to rely on the internet.

As the minutes ticked by, Dean was starting to feel more and more hopeless. Every page he clicked was a dead end; filled with information that they knew, or techniques they had tried, or complete bullshit.

Not even Cas or Jack had been able to help you, for this was a monster neither could fight.

Dean was starting to feel like he couldn’t fight it either.

-

You didn’t say a word when he walked in. The blankets he had tucked over and around you remained as they had been when he had left. Still you stared at your hand.

“Hey sweetheart, how’re you doing?”

You were silent for a moment, then hummed.

“M’fine.”

Dean didn’t protest, he knew you weren’t, but it was pointless to argue, it would only make you feel worse. Slowly, carefully, he approached the bed. In one hand he had your meds, the other, a glass of water.

He set them down and slid a gentle hand under your head lifting it to pull the pillows upwards. He brought forth his other and gently coaxed her into a sitting position.

Once the pills were in your mouth, he brought the water to your lips, tipping it until you pulled away, swallowing.

The glass clicked against the nightstand.

Smooth hand over your head and laid a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Good job sweetheart,” he kept his voice soft and positive, using one hand to lift you again and push the pillows back into a suitable position. “I’m gonna go take a quick shower, okay? I won’t be long”

You said nothing, simply blinking your eyes shut and letting out another hum.

-

Steam fogged billowed around him, fogging up the mirrors and lights.

He had forgotten to turn the fan on.

He didn’t really care. Sam had always berated him for that, saying that the moisture would ruin the paint and walls.

It seemed almost laughable that he would notice it now, but as your condition got worse and worse, it seemed every little thing done improperly or that was wrong stuck out like a sore thumb.   
As the hot water trickled down his face, he barely noticed he was crying.

-

When he returned, your eyes were shut, face relaxed. He tossed his clothes in the hamper, taking off his ‘dead-guy’ robe. Carefully, gently, he eased into bed, settling down beside you he wrapped an arm over you, reaching it under the pillow to where he hid his gun. The other wormed its way under your neck to cradle you closer.

Slightly roused, you cuddled back into his warmth and he, in return, leaned into you, both of you so desperately seeking the comfort of each other. You felt guilty that your depression was affecting him so deeply, yet he continued to assure you that he was fine.

Dean, on the other hand, was cursing himself for not noticing your symptoms sooner, regardless of whether you blamed him or not. He was supposed to take care of you.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology had Deans head shooting up as he leaned back to look at you.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, what the hell are you talking about?”

Twisting your head you found the glint of his eyes in the darkened room.

“I-I know you’re affected by me, I know it, and I’m sorry that I’m bringing you down,” you could feel tears welling up in your eyes. “You’re working so hard, and y-your not- your not taking care of yourself…”

“Sweetheart…”

Deans arms wrapped tighter around you and he held you close to him for several moments.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? I’m proud of you, I’m so damn proud of you. You’re fighting so hard. You don’t have to worry about me, okay, when you feel better, I’ll feel better too, okay?”

You said nothing, taking in a breath to protest, then dismissing it, simply nodding into his chest instead.

“Good girl.”

He smoothed a hand over your hair, not in the least tased by the greasiness that coated his fingers as the two of you settled back down.

The room was still as the minutes ticked away, both of you tired, yet neither one ready to sleep.

Then, softly, so softly that even in the silence Dean barely heard it, you whispered something. You didn’t turn to him, simply murmured the words, yet he cuddled you closer, pressing a kiss on your cheekbone.

“I love you too, Sweetheart.”


End file.
